Square One
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: A friend of Bobby's calls with information and things go south. One shot. Tag to 7x11 Adventures in Babysitting. Hurt/comfort/angst!Sam/Dean


**Title:** Square One

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A friend of Bobby's calls with information and things go south. One shot. Tag to 7x11 Adventures in Babysitting. Hurt/comfort/angst!Sam/Dean

**Author's note:** Just another of my plot bunnies. It popped into my head more or less fully formed while I was trying to finish "Dude, that's not the Great Pumpkin" and screwed my concentration all to hell. Lol

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean glanced over at his brother where he slept turned into the passenger window and frowned. He'd been sleeping deeply for over an hour and hadn't moved a muscle. His big brother radar which, admittedly, had been on the fritz for a while was screaming at him now. Testing a theory, Dean swerved over to the side of the road and the rumble strip there. The tires rolled over the variegated cement making the whole car vibrate and hum in its bid to wake a sleeping driver. Sam slept on with no sign he even noticed.

"Dammit." Dean sighed and crossed the rumble strip to pull off onto the verge. He parked and turned to his brother. "What's up with you, Sam?" Dean took his shoulder and gave him a shake. "Sam. Wake up." Sam's head lolled on the seat and Dean rolled him toward him as worry flowed through him. "Sammy? Come on, man. You're freakin' me out here. Sam!" Dean gave him a hard shake and was finally rewarded with a low moan. He sucked in a breath and rested a hand over the bandage on his brother's neck, covering the bite marks from the Vetala. "Come on, kid. Sam!" He felt warmth seeping into his hand from the bandage and the neck beneath it.

Sam heard his brother's voice calling him and floundered in confusion when the simple act of opening his eyes proved to be so hard. He felt Dean's hand on his neck and the shake he was given and finally managed to get his eyes open. "Dean?" His brother was leaned over him, a look of fading fear on his face.

"You trying to give me grey hairs?" Dean blew out a breath with relief. He flipped on the dome light and grabbed his brother's head when he turned away from it with a hiss. "Nuh-uh. Come here." He turned Sam's face up and got a good look at his eyes. They were a little glazed and sluggish and if he didn't know better, Sam was heading back toward sleep as he watched. "Nope. Stay awake." Dean pinched his arm hard, grinning as Sam yelped and jerked.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to push away the cobwebs in his head.

"You wouldn't wake up, man." Dean gave him back his personal space and leaned back, eyes narrowed at the bandage on his neck before he put the car back in gear and pulled out on the road. "No sleeping. Not yet. Should be a motel a few miles up."

Sam watched him and the tight line of his clenched jaw. "I wouldn't wake up?" He put his own hand over the bandage and considered. "That's…unsettling."

"Ya think?" Dean tossed back. He kept one eye on the road and the other on his brother. "How many times did those bitches take a chunk out of you?"

Sam sighed and leaned his head back. "Twice. Hey!" He jerked his head back up as Dean pinched him again.

"No sleeping yet." Dean reminded him. "Keep your head up." He knew it typically only took three bites for a Vetala to kill her victims and a cold wave of dread swept through him at how close Sam had come.

"I'm ok. Just tired." Sam kept his head up though and fought the lassitude that tried to spread through him again. He was warmer than he should be as well. He could feel that and sighed.

"Probably should'a dropped your ass in a hospital bed right next to Lee." Dean rolled his eyes. "Assuming you wouldn't be eaten by the Doctors."

"It's fine, Dean. It's probably just a delayed reaction or something." Sam shrugged and hissed as it pulled the wound in his neck.

"Yeah well you're staying awake 'til I get another look at that." Dean gave him a firm stare and nodded when Sam finally looked away in defeat. He thought maybe he was over-reacting slightly but at that moment couldn't be bothered to care. It was too soon; still far too soon after losing Bobby. He couldn't even entertain the thought of anything happening to his brother. The mind-numbing panic that had rode him while he'd searched for Sam and the Vetala had receded but it was still there. He'd screwed up and Sam had nearly paid the price for it. He cursed himself again for never thinking to update their Dad's journal with what he knew of the creatures. It was a stupid mistake.

"I'm alright, Dean." Sam said softly and smiled when Dean looked over at him surprised. "Don't have to be a mind-reader to see what's on your face, dude."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean growled and couldn't stop the small smirk that crept onto his face. He pulled off at the next exit and aimed for the motel sign waiting at the bottom of the ramp. He pulled in to the parking lot by the rental office beneath the flickering light of the lone street lamp and parked before looking over at him. "You think you can stay conscious while I go get us a room?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, I won't fall asleep."

"Uh huh." Dean got out of the car and went inside with a last glance at his brother before he closed the door.

Sam watched him through the window into the office and groaned. He let his head drop into his hands for just a moment. It was pounding; he was hot and so damn tired his eyes were burning. He scrubbed his hands into his eyes and then blinked furiously to keep them open in the sudden quiet. The rumble of the cars idling engine was lulling him toward sleep again. "Shit." He straightened in the seat, bumping his head on the roof of the car and tried to stretch his legs in the cramped space. He missed the Impala.

"Still with me?" Dean asked as he opened the door and Sam nodded wearily. "Got us a room. Just hang on." He didn't miss the rigid posture as Sam fought to stay awake or the way he had to pull himself out of the car, then fumble at the straps of his bag when Dean handed it to him and he was leaning against the wall of the motel while Dean got the door open. "This zombie routine's not makin' me feel better here, Sam."

"Huh?" Sam pulled his head up as Dean opened the door and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm awake."

"In." Dean gave him a light shove into the room and steered him to the table. "Sit."

"I'm not a dog." Sam scowled at him but sat as he was ordered, dropping to the chair with a thump.

"Whatever, Shaggy." Dean smirked. He tossed his bag on the bed and opened it, taking out the first aid kit and a bottle of holy water before sitting next to his brother.

"Holy water?" Sam eyed the bottle curiously.

"Only thing I didn't do to it before." Dean shrugged and reached up to carefully peel away the bandage on his neck.

"Lee got bit worse than me." Sam said and flinched with discomfort as the peeling tape pulled at the shredded skin.

"Yeah and he looked like he was having trouble staying awake too. If this does what I think it's gonna, we'll be calling Krissy and she'll be doing this to her Dad too. Sit still." Dean picked up the holy water and held it up to his neck. He poured a steady stream over the broken skin and slapped his other hand out to Sam's shoulder to hold him still when he lurched in the chair with a strangled cry.

"Shit!" Sam's neck was burning, as though red hot coals were being shoved into the side of his neck. He clamped a hand around Dean's arm and held on with his eyes shut as the water continued to pour agony into him.

"Hang on." Dean coached and kept the stream steady as it hissed and sizzled into the wound. Sam paled, went through several shades of white finally settling on translucent and gasping when the water stopped bubbling and ran clear. Dean set it aside and pressed a wad of gauze to the wound, holding it firmly and supporting Sam at the same time. "Hey. You ok?" Sam gave him a weak, short nod. "How you feel now? Still sleepy?"

Sam cracked his eyes open and glared at him. "No."

Dean chuckled and pulled the gauze away. "Better." He looked over to his arm with a smirk. "Can I have that back now?"

Sam looked down and realized he still had a death grip on his brother's forearm and reluctantly let it go. "Sorry."

"Such a girl." Dean teased. He put a fresh bandage over the bite marks and sat back pulling out his phone. "Now you can sleep."

"Jerk." Sam muttered as he stood, wobbling for a moment and then went to sit on the side of his bed.

Dean watched him carefully and then dialed Krissy's number. He didn't envy her having to do the same to her father in a hospital room and once more kicked himself for missing something important as the phone rang.

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Sam woke groggy, lured awake by the smell of coffee under his nose.

"Mornin' sunshine." Dean chuckled as Sam reached for the cup not yet completely awake. "Get up."

"Mmff." Sam grunted and took a sip of the glorious brew. He closed his eyes and sighed happily.

"Come on." Dean slapped his leg beneath the blankets. "We got a job."

"Huh?" That made Sam wake up all the way and he pushed himself upright. "We just went to sleep?"

"That was nine hours ago, princess." Dean went to sit at the table in front of Sam's laptop. "Got a call a few hours ago from a…" He had to stop and take a breath. "A friend of Bobby's. He says he's got information for us."

"Wait. Wait." Sam kicked off the blankets and swung his legs off the bed. He sighed seeing he'd slept in his clothes and that at some point Dean must have pulled off his shoes for him. "He just calls up out of the blue with information? What kind of information?"

"He says he's got dirt on Dick." Dean said with a smile as Sam groaned. "Also says something we need to know about our old buddy Crowley."

"How does he even know we need any of that?" Sam wrapped a hand over the bandage on his neck, pleased that it didn't hurt so much this morning.

"He's a Demonologist." Dean closed the laptop and sat back, holding up Bobby's notebook. "The real thing according to this."

"Oh, well that fills me with confidence." Sam sighed and stood. "He's in Bobby's book though?"

Dean nodded and laid it aside. "Get showered. Should take us about seven hours to get to him."

Sam groaned and grabbed his bag, taking that and his coffee into the bathroom with him. "Still don't like that he just magically knows the info we need."

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"You sure about this, Dean?" Sam asked his brother as he had before and ignored the irritated growl.

"Yes, Sammy. I'm sure." Dean shook his head.

Sam followed him up the path to the old house and couldn't ignore the nerves in his gut. "Dean, he's a Demonologist. The real deal, not one of those armchair idiots. For all we know he's made a deal to get his power."

"Dude, he's like eighty and housebound." Dean snorted. "If he made a deal he got screwed." He strode up the aging porch steps to the door and knocked. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sammy. It'll be fine." He stepped back beside him and waited. "He said Crowley's up to something with the Leviathan's that we need to know."

Sam opened his mouth to argue again but closed it as the door squeaked open. An older man with greying hair peered out at them. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Uh, Dean and Sam Winchester. Darryl Emerling called us." Dean watched as the man nodded.

"Ah yes. You're expected. Come in." He pulled the door open and stepped aside. "I'm Mr. Emerling's man servant. He's indisposed at the moment."

"Indisposed?" Sam asked and looked around the warmly paneled entry way with interest.

The man servant smiled. "He's asleep. At his age that happens and generally without warning. Especially this late in the evening. He asked me to show you in anyway and ask that you wait. This way."

Dean exchanged a look with his brother and followed the man through a hall, past several darkened rooms and into a study clogged with books and shelves, a massive antique desk gleaming with rosewood and in the corner, a wide, high backed wing-chair with an elderly man asleep, snoring gently beneath a blanket. A well-oiled, gnarled cane leaned against the front of the chair.

"Please remain quiet until he wakes." The man servant nodded toward his charge. "He'll wake soon. Help yourselves to the bar. I have duties to attend to." He turned and left them alone.

"Well this is…weird." Sam said softly.

Dean prowled around the room to the bar and picked up a bottle of whiskey. He held up to Sam with a smile.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. Getting drunk wasn't high on his list these days as it only seemed to make him more open to the things in his head. He had enough trouble as it was. As if sensing his unease, a soft whistle started up behind his right ear. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to tune it out.

"I'm gonna…check around the house, outside." Sam told Dean quietly. "Make sure there's nothing hinkey going on."

Dean shrugged and waved him off. "Suit yourself." He'd seen the tightening around Sam's eyes; the slight flinch and swallowed the irritation that he wouldn't talk to him about it or let him help. "Dammit." He poured a shot of whiskey and leaned up against the small bar to watch the old man sleep. He was tempted to wake him up. Dean was eager to hear whatever it was the old guy thought was so important. Leviathans may have been his driving force but getting one up on the King of Hell was definitely high on his list. "Anytime now, Darryl." Patience was definitely not his strong suit anymore.

The old man seemed to sense his visitor finally. He snored a little more loudly, coughed and finally faded blue eyes blinked open to meet Dean's. "Oh my, hello there. Just having a rest."

Dean snorted. "You were sleeping."

Darryl Emerling's smile widened. "I was resting."

Dean shook his head. "You were snoring."

The old man chuckled and stretched his arms above his head. "Rest is for the weary, Dean Winchester." He smirked at the surprise on Dean's face. "Sleep is for the dead. I was resting."

Darryl's old eyes blew wide in shock as the point of a blade erupted from the center of his chest. Dean blinked and stumbled back a step as blood sprayed up into his face. Crowley rose from behind the chair and looked fondly down at the old man as he gurgled a last breath and his head slid to the side; dead.

"And now he's sleeping." Crowley said in a pleasant voice.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted and took a stride forward, throwing off the shock that had held him still. He grunted as Crowley's power slammed into him and threw him back against the wall.

"Now, now, Rocky." Crowley walked out from behind the chair and faced the naked fury on Dean's face with a smirk. "Where's Bullwinkle, hmm?"

"Eat me!" Dean struggled against the power holding him to the wall, desperate to rip out the Demon's throat.

"Tempting as that offer is, I think I'll pass." Crowley rolled his eyes and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He studiously wiped the old man's blood from his fingers and tossed the handkerchief to the floor at Dean's feet. "You'll be needing that. Got a little Darryl…" He pointed to his cheek and waggled a brow at Dean. "Just there." Crowley paced back to Darryl's chair and sat gingerly on one of the arms, avoiding the spattered blood. "Afraid Darryl here was just about to ruin some well laid plans of mine. I'm disappointed in you boys." Crowley fixed Dean with a sad smile. "I've given you a free pass and yet Leviathans are still playing in my playground. I need you two meatheads to pick up the pace and obviously…I need to make a point."

"Do it your damn self!" Dean growled as Crowley rose from the chair and went to Darryl's desk. Inwardly he sent silent pleas to his brother, wishing Sam could hear him and know not to come back; not to walk in to whatever the King of Hell had planned.

Crowley found what he wanted and turned back to Dean with a grin holding up a long, narrow brass letter opener. "Did you know there are over a hundred places where one can slide a narrow blade clear through a human body and not hit a single vital organ?" He asked conversationally. "Just blood and pain." Crowley stood before him and punched the slim blade through Dean's abdomen, low on the right side making Dean choke off a shout of pain. He grinned up at him. "Ah but you do know that. Every spot." He patted Dean's face sharply. "Alastair was an artist. Well, he was a right pommie bastard but an artist."

"Screw you!" Dean gasped through the pain, seeing red that had nothing to with blood. Rage suffused him and he braced himself as Crowley took hold of the letter opener again and pulled it out in one, maddeningly slow motion. Dean sucked in air and focused his attention on Darryl's glazed eyes; promising him vengeance…one day.

"Dean. I'm going to be nice because I can be you know. I'm a teddy bear as far as Demons go. You underestimate me. I'm going to leave you be and let you get on with things." He narrowed his eyes up at Dean. "And I do mean bloody get on with things or the next time I visit with this." He spun the bloody letter opener in front of Dean's enraged green eyes. "It'll be that enormous freak of nature of a little brother I practice on." Crowley grinned suddenly. "Motivation. Works wonders."

Dean glared death down at him for threatening Sam. "Mistake, Crowley." He said softly. "Big mistake."

Crowley only chuckled and tucked the letter opener into a pocket. "You know how it excites me when you make empty threats."

Dean dropped suddenly to the floor as Crowley vanished from in front of him. He hunched over the wound in his stomach and groaned. "Dammit." The pain was immense and he pushed it back with difficulty. There was a shout from outside and a loud impact with the side of the house. "Sam." He shoved to his feet and staggered out of the room with a last look at Darryl's body. "Sorry man." He pulled his shirt over the wound and broke into a run. Dean lurched to a stop in the entry. Darryl's man servant lay sprawled by the door, his neck opened and blood spilling out along the floor.

"Crap." Dean went around him and outside. He pulled the Demon killing knife from his back, thankful he'd grabbed it as they'd left and followed the sound of a fight around the side of the house. "Sammy!"

"Dea…!" Sam's voice was hoarse and instantly cut off.

Dean burst around the corner and found two Demon's with his brother. One was picking himself up from the ground, wiping blood from an obviously broken nose and the other held Sam with a vice grip around his throat. He didn't say anything. Dean jumped ahead and had the knife planted in the chest of the Demon holding his brother while surprise was still on the thing's face. Deep, red light flashed from beneath its skin as it released its grip and slid to the ground, dead.

Sam gasped in much needed air as the second Demon made a lunge for his brother. He grabbed the man around the knees and threw him to the ground. "Dean! Now!"

Dean dropped to a knee and plunged the knife into the Demon's chest. He pulled it free once the red light faded and slapped a hand out to Sam's shoulder. "You alright?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good." He rocked back on his heels, rubbing his throat. "They said something about Crowley telling them to keep me busy." He looked over at Dean and studied him closely. "He was inside wasn't he?"

"Yeah." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and came away with blood. "Darryl's dead, so's the butler dude."

"Ah god." Sam sighed and stood shakily. He reached down and took Dean's arm, pulling him up. "Shit! Dean?" He pulled the flannel beneath his brother's jacket aside with wide eyes. "You're bleeding."

"It's fine." Dean tried to push his hands away and snarled when Sam wouldn't be put off.

"Dean, this is not fine!" Sam tugged the hem of his shirts up and hissed as he saw what was clearly a stab wound. "We've gotta get you to a hospital."

"Forget it. Didn't hit anything important." Dean finally succeeded in shoving his hands away. "We need to get out of here."

"You can't know that!" Sam threw his arms up in frustration and followed him across the lawn to the car. "You could be bleeding out internally."

"Yes I can." Dean said quietly as Crowley's painfully true words came back to him. He couldn't look at Sam just then.

"Dean." Sam blew out a breath and swallowed his own temper at the look on Dean's face. He knew that look well and pushing would only drive him to anger. He sighed. "Fine but just…will you let me clean it up? Bandage it at least? You're gonna get blood everywhere."

Dean glanced back at him and rolled his eyes, relenting. "Fine."

"Fine." Sam said with relief as they reached the car. He went to the trunk, opening it and pulling out the first aid kit before his brother changed his mind. "Sit somewhere already."

Dean groaned and opened the driver's door, dropping back onto the seat. He resigned himself to letting Sam fuss, knowing he'd have no relief until he did. "Hurry it up before those assholes come back for more."

"You could let me drive." Sam said as he lifted Dean's shirts out of the way and got a better look at the wound. It was narrow and still bleeding sluggishly but not enough to worry him now he could see it. It was a puncture. "What did Crowley want?"

"To make a point." Dean said angrily and watched the top of Sam's head while he cleaned the wound.

Sam glanced up meeting his eyes and frowned. "And that means?"

"Nothing. He's a Demon and a bastard, Sam." Dean said angrily. "He killed that old man so he wouldn't tell us what he was up to. Guy never even had a chance."

"Here." Sam handed him a piece of gauze wet with water. "Clean your face." He pressed gently around the puncture in Dean's stomach, hearing him grunt above him. "Sorry. You sure this is ok?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." Dean wiped Darryl's blood from his face and neck and closed his eyes. One more pebble of guilt to add to his pile.

Sam taped a pressure bandage over the wound and let Dean pull his shirts back down. He tidied up the kit and flinched when Dean's hand took his chin, lifting it into the light from the car's interior. "Dean, what?"

"Damn, Sammy." Dean got a good look at the handprint bruised into his neck. He let go and swung his legs into the car. "Come on. Get in so we can ice that before you choke."

Sam snorted softly. "Too late."

Dean was seething with rage; at Crowley for threatening his brother and killing two innocent people, at Darryl who'd been too damn cagey to tell him what he wanted them to know on the phone but most of all at himself for letting the bastard get the drop on him. He pressed a hand into his stomach to try and lessen the pain as Sam got in beside him and peeled away from the curb. He looked over at his brother, noticing the spots of blood on the bandage on his throat.

"Dude, you're bleeding again." Dean told him.

Sam let his head fall back to the seat on a groan. "Don't care."

It startled a snort of laughter from Dean. He stretched a hand over and pressed it into the bandage. "Gonna get you a friggin defensive neck brace for your birthday dude."

Sam chuckled softly in spite of the pain in his throat. "I think I'd wear it. Ow. Not so hard."

"Shut up, bitch." Dean kept the pressure firm and drove. They were back where they were before the old guy had called but at least they were both still alive. That was something.

"Jerk."

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_The End. _


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